Squares
by schumie
Summary: Is it not a presumptuous soul that keeps living when its meaning for life is gone?
1. Chapter 1

AN: I've been on a writing splurge the last few days, and this was one of the results. I apologize ahead of time for any grammar problems due to formatting.

Ciel stared at the barely distinguishable black and white squares before him. It was far past dark, and normally he would have been asleep already. Instead, he looked at the black squares on the board, only distinguishable because of the white surrounding them. Or perhaps the white was only distinguishable because of its presence within the black.

_ Surely these thoughts must be the result of lack of sleep_, Ciel thought absently.

He turned to his left and looked outside. Because it wasn't situated in London or surrounded directly by any other city, the nights were always darker at the Phantomhive home. This night was clear and empty, the moon a dull glow barely noticeable. Ciel relaxed more in his chair. His hand went under his chin, and he closed his eyes.

_ And...what do I do now_, he thought.

Ciel, though surrounded with money and the comfort that came with it, had never been one to pass his days idly. His days had been spent doing the bidding of his queen, and when no instructions came from her, running his company or receiving lessons from Sebastian in social conduct or the arts, in order to better serve his queen and run his company.

He hadn't anticipated this. Everything was done. He had his personal revenge, and, as a result, had avenged his family. He had turned London into a hellfire, even if he hadn't directly meant to. No, he wasn't responsible. The angel was. Ciel was merely a spectator to the chaos. Hundreds of people were dead and international relations were on a fine balance, waiting to tip any moment. And yet, after the fires had burned everything away, people had come back. After all, they had nowhere else to go. In the aftermath, people continued on as they always had, in an even dirtier, darker London. And that was why the Phantomhives had been able to perform their role for so long. Despite the sadness and chaos, people returned to their lives and everything continued, even though many of the lives were completely changed, and their homes broken. After all, not everyone had the ability to recreate their lives like Ciel had. Not everyone could make such a perfect replica of a life. Not everyone could restart like he had.

Ciel had a perfect replica of his home. He had servants. He had his company and wealth. All things that he'd been able to create perfect replicas of from when his life had been real, and not something allowed to continue based on a contract with the demonic. Not everyone could do that, even if they had the supernatural help at their hands. It required strength, determination, and most of all, for Ciel, hate. Much was required to build a copy of a life that could fool everyone else. It had almost fooled even him sometimes. To build such a convincing, temporary continuation of his life had cost a handsome price.

A soul for revenge.

At the time, Ciel had known exactly what he was trading, and he hadn't thought twice about doing so. What was his own broken soul compared to the pain and embarrassment he could make his enemies suffer? But with his borrowed life came new people. And somewhere along the road, Ciel had started caring again. In the end, however, no matter how many paths crossed his, he was Ciel Phantomhive, and just Ciel Phantomhive. The only things he had left were his name and personal honor, and the drive to do what he meant to until its fruition ended him. Even in the end, he played the game based on his own set of principles-- a perfect hypocrite. The child with the pawn that broke all of the rules insisting that everyone follow them. A great pawn. Now, that was proved untrue. It was not a pawn he had held and maneuvered as he pleased, but a weapon that chose to work at his side. A great weapon indeed. One that should have cost him so heavy a price as his own soul.

Should have. The price, however, hadn't been paid.

When Ciel had achieved his goal, when he had settled everything, and the rest was going to hell, he had been prepared to die a second time. The last time. He would live on borrowed time no longer. Though he had failed in remaining unfeeling and had grown more attachments to the shade of his former life, he had been prepared to fulfill his end of the bargain. He had his principles, and he achieved his ends, even if it felt too quickly done afterwords.

Clean of the blood that had been soaking through both of their clothes, sitting on the stone bench, Sebastian had made his last promise to Ciel. Ciel could still feel his butlers smooth hands as the roamed his face and slid under the patch over his right eye. He could still see the curving of his butlers lips, and the reds of his eyes as he came close, his demon nature beginning to seep out of him after he had taken such precautions to not let Ciel see it.

Like Sebastian had promised when Ciel had request it, there had been pain. Unimaginable pain. Ciel was at once screaming without a voice and at once content amongst the pain. But then it was gone. And he was at home, in his bed. In a home with no Maylene, no Bard, no Finny, and no Pluto. Tanaka, though not discovered amongst the deceased, had disappeared after the chaos in London it seemed, though not before making arrangements for Ciel's funeral. A casket-less affair, as no body would be found to place in on. Tanaka had always known more than others would believe.

And so it was that Ciel came back to an empty mansion, and a funeral. Not knowing why he seemed to be alive, he hadn't stopped the funeral from proceeding. He had even watched Elizabeth arrive in a carriage, wander the grounds of his mansion, then leave, sobbing into her maid. As he had watched her, there were numerous emotions Ciel believed he should be feeling, but he felt none of them. He should be sad at seeing Elizabeth's tears. He should be grateful to still be alive.

Or perhaps he already was dead and his experience now was one of the limbo which he would forever be fated to live in. One where he truly lived in solitude.

Before, he had claimed to always be living alone in the dark. The claim made it easier to live a life based on revenge. However, he had never been truly alone. He had been the employer of four loyal servants, the master of a demon dog, and the contractor of a devil. The thing he noticed the most in this awkward existence was the silence. No breaking china, no cracking trees, no afternoon interrupted by Sebastian bringing in tea.

He should have felt loneliness, but he didn't.

He passed days in the quiet, doing nothing. He would sit and stare out the window or set up the chess board, only to realize there there was no point. Every day seemed to melt into the next day. He ate when he felt he was supposed to, taking from the storage, and slept when his eyes closed, his bed often abandoned.

This night his eyes wouldn't allow sleep, though. Ciel looked at a small portrait of his family that sat on one of reading shelves. He remembered that he had ordered the large portrait on the stairs removed and it had been burned. Ciel realized the picture he was staring at, in which the figures were barely distinguishable in the dark, was the last evidence of his family as it had been. He thought about getting up and looking at it under candlelight, but he had no desire to look at it. It was a past life.

_ Perhaps this is what it means to not have a soul_, Ciel thought, turning back to the chess board. He picked up a black pawn and rotated it slowly in his ungloved fingers. He didn't feel loneliness or sadness or anger. Rather, something much less abrasive, something much less deep crept at the edge of his mind. The space of something missing.

Sebastian, you never lied, but you never gave me the truth, Ciel said in a low voice, placing the pawn on the board. That is something humans are meant to do, Ciel muttered, picking up another piece. He placed the black knight next to the black pawn.

Sebastian didn't lie. It was against his principles. He had pledged to remain by Ciel's side until the end and he was no longer there. Did that mean this was the end? But Sebastian had left Ciels side once before to test him. Perhaps he was testing Ciel again, and would be back. Sebastian had been a constant. Something unchanging in Ciel's rebuilt life which was constantly changing, yet perfectly still from the moment hed made the contract. And Sebastian was gone now.

For the first time, Ciel felt something tearing at him. He clenched his teeth and flung the chess pieces off of the board, where he couldn't see them land in the dark. He stood up and ripped off the eye patch over his eye. What was the point of wearing the damnable thing when there was no one to hide the truth from.

Ciel threw things off his desk, searching for a candle. Upon finding one, he lit it and stood in before a mirror above the mantle on the fireplace. He held the candle up and, with his other hand, brushed his hair from his eye. His eyebrows knit together, and his lips pulled down at the corners.

The sign of the contract was faded. Only a shadow of it remained. Or maybe Ciel only imagined it was there.

Had Sebastian pitied him and left Ciel with his dirty, unneeded soul and life? Had he taken Ciel's soul and left him to rot in a limbo with silence that falls dead on the ears? How could Ciel be dead if he had seen Elizabeth in the flesh? Was he a ghost, left to watch the one person that had been left after it all fade away?

Ciel stared at his reflection lit by candlelight and saw his face slowly begin to change. The face that he hadn't been able to make sad or angry since Sebastian had left him to wake up alone was twisting and snarling.

The mirror shattered, half of it falling to pieces on the floor, the other half cracking like spiderwebs. The bigger pieces on the floor reflected the blood dripping from his hand. Ciel raised his hand up and observed the blood that looked almost black in the dark of the night.

_ What is the meaning of this, _he thought, dropping his hand to his side.

He could barely feel the dull throbbing in his hand and frowned with anger at the thought that, if he had been wearing his gloves, such a thing could have been prevented. Since there was no one to dress him on those long days, however, he did not bother with the meaningless addition of gloves.

He tightened his hand into a fist, and the blood spilled out from the cuts on his knuckles more quickly. Ciel stood there for a moment, his blood slowing to a trickle, and raised his hand to the half of the mirror that remained in its frame on the mantle. Staring at half of his face, he slowly traced a star with his blood, where it should have been in his eye. He looked into the remains of the mirror for a moment, the smeared red star looking black against his blue eyes. Finally, he closed his eyes and turned back to his chair. He sat down and gazed the darkness outside. Clenching his hand, he thought angrily:

_ Where is Sebastian?_

AN: I might add more to this, I might not. Tell me what you think?


	2. Chapter 2

Slight spoilers for the anime?

…_.Where is Sebastian?_

[Square 2]

Ciel turned over in his bed. He wasn't sure how long he'd gone without sleep. He would lie down when dark came and get up when it was dawn. His eyes would close with the night, but he didn't sleep. The only things he knew were the sun and the moon.

He'd continued eating on a regular schedule purely out of habit, not because he was ever hungry. It was good that his days were so bland, because the only thing blander could have been the taste of his food. No raspberry tarts, no tea cakes. Just jarred and pickled foods. Just necessity- or presumed necessity- as Ciel wasn't sure he even needed what he ate. But eating made him feel like he was still human, and human (even to a person who spent his days hating them) was a better prospect than being a wandering soul.

Tonight, though, he had gone to bed without supper, and didn't bother changing into his nightclothes. The lace on his coat rubbed raw against his skin as he tossed and turned in bed, and instead of waiting for a sign from the first rays of light, he pushed his bedcovers back and sat up against the headboard. He brushed the hair out of his eyes, only to pull his hand away when he felt something sticky and viscous.

The hand that he had cut on shards of mirror however many nights before had since been wrapped up by Ciel. He'd actually taken great care in doing so, re-wrapping it several times until he achieved a bandage job that Sebastian would have settled for. Since then, though, he had ignored the wound. Looking at the outline of his hand, he realized that part of the bandages had been soaked through with blood and had dried dark, but a wetness was leaking from the other side now. A faint stench was coming from beneath the cloth. Ciel stared at his hand a moment more and turned to look out the window. Another night exactly like the one before glowed back dully at him.

He unwrapped his hand in the dark and placed it in the wash basin. He looked up and caught his reflection in the mirror above the basin. His face looked paler, and his hair had grown longer. Ciel wondered if that was normal for a spirit. He had heard the undertaker mention once that the fingernails continue to grow even on a corpse. Ciel wondered if hair was the same, and if it were, did the rules for a person in purgatory follow those of the natural world? Would his nails and hair continue growing while his body remained the same? The idea was somehow very disconcerting. Ciel had never planned on growing older when he'd made the contract. He hadn't thought of a future, because he had assumed all of it had been taken from him. To think about himself now as a grown man was a feat of imagination he was not capable of, even if he tried…

But his hand was dripping water onto the floor, and it splashed on his stockings. He had forgotten about the wound. He dried his hand on the towel next to the basin, glanced slowly about his room, seeing none of it, and went back to bed, this time changing into his nightclothes before doing so. When Ciel lay down again in his bed, sleep came silently and stealthily, and the dreams started.

Ciel dreamed of cool hands caressing his cheek then brushing over his lips, and a low voice, smooth in his ear. He thought, in the dream that it was his mother's voice.

He woke up to a dull pain in his hand, and a cold sweat over his body. From the dresser drawer by his bed he the portrait of his family. He didn't know when he had put it in there. In the picture his parents looked peaceful and happy. It took him several moments to realize he couldn't remember what his mother's voice sounded like.

The next day, Ciel sat in his office armchair. He gazed, unfocused, at the barren trees surrounding the mansion. Then something caught his eye. It was a carriage- a basic one-horse carriage of low expense. A cab. _A reporter or a lesser government official then, _he thought. So the great monarchy could exist without its monarch. No matter what happened, government would find a way to survive. As would news hounds.

At once, several things occurred to Ciel as he watched it approach. Since he was the only one of his family left, if he were dead or disconnected to the living world, who did the Phantomhive mansion go to? Surely he had willed it to Elizabeth. Or had he even bothered writing a will? Why would a person with nothing left need a will? Perhaps the government official was investigating any Phantomhive involvement in the fires. But that should have been covered up. Precious few knew of the purpose of the Phantomhives and the death of the queen would have settled that once and for all. What was a dog without its owner?

A dull ache drew Ciel's attention to his hand. Without looking at it, he dressed the wound in its old bandages. Turning his attention fully back to the approaching carriage, he waited for it to stop in front of the house. Waited for this small piece of humanity to approach his purgatory. This small connection to the real, living world. Only, the carriage did not stop. It continued past the estate. Where, Ciel did not know. There was nothing surrounding the estate for miles and miles. But this didn't matter. For some reason, Ciel felt something that had been building up in him disappear. He went back to his bedroom and, against normal routine, laid down in bed and slept.

He dreamt of a hand again. A chilled, smooth hand. It brushed his cheek, and flitted over his lips. The voice seemed different this time, clearer but still far away, and it was dark. In his mind's ear it whispered of rich things. Promises and devotion. Hatred and something cooler. The fingers traced over his face, then moved down his neck. Suddenly they were around his neck, one hand wrapping nearly around it, nails digging into his skin. At once there was pressure, stinging, and a swelling feeling. He could feel the grip tighten, but no tendons or muscles flexing. Ciel coughed but didn't struggle. If this would set it all right, or at least get him out of this hell, there was no reason to struggle. Ciel raised his own hands and gripped those of the attacker softly. At that, they disappeared.

When Ciel woke up, he replaced the chessboard and its pieces. He would be black. He was always black and always would be. He observed the garden from his office. It was dead. Without Finny to simultaneously care for it and destroy it, everything had withered. How long had he been here like this? Did time even flow the same way? Did time even exist? Yes, his hair and face were evidence of that. His hair.

Ciel drew a small knife from his desk drawer. He stood before the window, his dim reflection staring back at him, arm raised to cut. Then he saw it. His father. A perfect replica of his father staring back at him. He immediately thought of the family portrait, his mother and father, and how he could no longer remember their voices. Ciel fell to the floor, bitter, acidic taste filling his mouth.

When he'd recovered, he dragged himself to his chair and closed his eyes.

This time the hands promised other things. They promised danger and fascination. Desire and loss. But so much to gain. They roved over his face, gripped his neck for a split moment, tracing the finger marks from the dream the night before, then flitted downwards. Following the small curves of his shoulders, running down his arms, they flitted across his fingertips, then back to his chest. Each touch barely stayed a moment, but each felt heavier and like more contact than Ciel could remember ever feeling. The hands explored him, burning cool paths into his skin, small spots where he could feel the slightest movement, the barest brush of nails, down to his navel. Then they were on his face again, one brushing over his lips, the other sliding up to his eye. To the contract. No, there was no contract there anymore.

He just wanted it to be there.

_Sebastian_.

Ciel jolted awake in his chair. His hand ached. He ignored it. Looking outside, into the painfully moonlight, he saw his kingdom. His wasted, empty kingdom.

Ciel did not sleep. He wasn't sure for how long, but he watched the sun rise over and over again. Each day the shine was a shallow glare. The minimal sounds of the house- the creaking of the floor, the tiny scrape of his armchair as he sat in it- became muffled and thick. The time between sunrise and sunset began to stretch out.

After some time Ciel went to his study library. He looked at the books blandly. Nothing he hadn't read or was interested in. Politics, religion, business. Then he saw it. Tucked neatly between two of the Funtom Company revenue books was a copy of Elizabeth's favorite fairy tale. Ciel opened up the book and a single sheet of paper fell out. It read, in an obnoxiously large and curling hand (obviously Elizabeth's)

Dear Ciel,

I'm sorry I broke your ring. I really am! I'll get you another one, one even better! And I'll fill it with my love!

Please wait for it!

Love love,

Elizabeth

Ciel stared at the note for what could have been hours. Finally he replaced it and put the book back in the shelf. That night, he decided to sleep.

First he dreamed of Elizabeth and the time she'd broken his heirloom ring. He dreamt of her sad, then smiling face, the way she'd danced so happily, then the slight shock he'd received when Sebastian had produced it for him again, completely in repair. Some things just didn't seem fixable, demon or no. Sebastian.

Then he dreamed of the hands. It started at his lips this time. The fingers lingered there forever, brushing, then parting his lips, never going inside, teasingly tracing the outside. Then they moved down again. Fingers on his chest, sucking the air out. Thumbs smoothing over his hip bones. No, not thumbs, thumb. And there was not two arms, but one. Ciel thought the name in a gasp as painted nails surrounded his throat.

_Sebastian! _

The grip tightened, nails slowly piercing the skin. Ciel could feel warm rivulets trickling down hi neck to his shoulders. He felt a crushing throb. He reached up for the hands, attempting to prise them off of his neck. When that didn't work, he began to panic. He kicked and dug his own nails into the hand. Where had the other hand gone? It was stroking his hair. Ciel screamed voicelessly as he neared unconsciousness. Gathering one last bit of strength, he gasped loudly, only to have lips cover his own. The grip on his neck was impossibly tightening even more, as thing lips pressed harder on his and a cool tongue traced the inside of his mouth.

_No. I can't die. I can't die like this._

Blackness seeped at the edge of his mind.

_I don't want to die. Sebastian! I don't want to die!_

Immediately Ciel shot up in bed. He was panting, and his neck throbbing. He clutched at his chest and his forehead was damp from a chilled sweat. That's when he felt it. Felt him. And everything he should be feeling with the presence- anger, hatred, fear- was nowhere to be found.

"Sebastian."

A single word and a dark form appeared from the corner of the room, approaching him smoothly, then kneeling on one knee.

"Yes, My Lord."

Ciel gazed at the thing before him. Sebastian wore his normal butler attire. He had both arms, and looked not a bit different otherwise than when he had last leaned over Ciel with the promise of a painful death. Sebastian approached him gracefully. Ciel did not expect the first thing Sebastian would do. He tutted.

"Gone for a short while, and you've managed to injure yourself and not care for it properly. And look at that hair."

"Then I'm…" _not dead?_ Ciel wanted to say. But Sebastian was not one to show your insecurities to. He was supposed to kill Ciel.

"You're not dead, if that is what you are wondering, Young Master."

"I-"

"However, you've been living as if you were. How was it, being dead?"

Ciel said nothing, as Sebastian unwrapped the stiff bandage on his arm. There were questions. But Ciel wasn't the type to ask so many questions, and Sebastian wasn't the type to answer them. Why stop playing their parts now? One question would be enough.

"…..Finny, Maylene, Bard, and Pluto?"

"As you said, they are very stubborn. Lady Elizabeth is well also."

The world hadn't stopped without him. And why would it?

Ciel watched as Sebastian pulled fresh bandages seemingly out of nowhere. He felt like he should be angry, but he wasn't.

"I know."

"Ah, so you saw her."

There was silence as Sebastian lightly examined Ciel's hand. Even in his solitary time in the house Ciel he not known silence like this. Now that there was something to fill it- Sebastian to fill it- he realized so incredibly quiet the time had been. He ached for some kind of sound. His life had been full of clumsy maids, horrid cooks, disastrous gardeners, and so much hatred, burning in his ears. Without it, he couldn't have gone on. His reason for living. Nothing had been quiet or peaceful.

"Young Master, this will not do. It is infected."

"You were late."

Sebastian's lips curled into a smile. Or was it a smirk. Did it matter?

"So helpless."

"And yet I'm still here."

There. The big question without having to ask it. Sebastian glanced at Ciel's stony face. He retrieved a wash basin and rinsed the wound. Ciel stared at the swollen, miscolored cuts with detached fascination.

"A contract…" Sebastian wrapped the new cloths around Ciel's arm and leaned in close to Ciel's ear, his smooth, cool hair brushing against Ciel's cheek. "…Must be fulfilled."

It took only a second for Ciel's eyes to widen in a mix of understanding and shock. He opened his mouth to let out a sound of horror, but it was quickly covered by a gloved hand. Ciel caught his breath and stared at Sebastian, his look of fear turning to one of disdain and anger.

"Yes, that will not due. I cannot have the Young Master looking so undignified." Ciel's eyes narrowed, but he made no move to remove Sebastian's hand, instead fixing him with a look that would burn anything that was of this world.

"Yes, this is much better. How I've missed this expression." With that, Sebastian twisted the fingers of his other hand into the back of Ciel's hair and pulled him forward into that hand covering his mouth. Sebastian pressed his lips violently against the back of his hand, a slender, slick tongue sneaking through the gaps inbetween his fingers to flick over Ciel's mouth.

"Yes, the taste of Young Master cannot be rivaled by any…"

Just as quickly as it had been done, Sebastian was two paces away, hand on his chest, bowing at the waist. Ciel gazed at him with a flick of anger in his eyes, and also something less fiery.

"What is your bidding, Young Master?"

Ciel stared at Sebastian for a moment longer, then turned his gaze to his surroundings. He looked at his bandaged, thought of the shattered mirror. Of the portrait of his family he had taken down. Of his funeral. This forfeit, this copy of the Phantomhive mansion was no longer his. It never had been. He'd been playing at a child's game, the whole time thinking he made the rules. He had been wrong.

"I will need my best traveling clothes."

"Young Master?"

Ciel retrieved the portrait of his family and looked at the happy faces of his parents. He no longer had anything to live for in this place. All he had known here was revenge, and the false Phantomhive mansion was merely a means for it. It had outlasted its use. So he would leave. He would live for what he knew best. But this time, instead of dying for it, he would _live_ for it.

Ciel placed the portrait on the night stand, face down.

"We're leaving. For Buckingham Palace."

Sebastian smiled devilishly.

"Yes, My Lord."

ciel gets angry and asked Sebastian why he didn't kill him


End file.
